


A Very Handsome Scientist

by Checkerbox



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, implied they do things but nothing is actually stated, very short so not much to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 15:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12751446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Checkerbox/pseuds/Checkerbox
Summary: He doesn't know who the stranger is, but he does know that his voice is exactly the kind of thing he would like to hear on his invention someday.





	A Very Handsome Scientist

London is dismal this time of year.

Some of the people that Guglielmo Marconi knows can avoid the weather from working inside, but he doesn't have that benefit. Many of his recent experiments were outdoors affairs--albeit, in Italy on his father's estate. Not in this rainy city.

Today is not about experimentation, moreso a meet and greet for funding, but it is in a park and he isn't entirely pleased about that. The wind is cold, the people are rude, and not many of them share his vision. To them, it's all novelty. It's all something for scientists to grapple over amongst themselves. His work isn't worth anything to them.

There is someone among the crowd talking to him that he does not recognize, or even notice for most of the discussion. It's only after the rest of them trail off and Marconi is preparing to leave that the stranger makes a bid to introduce himself. This other man is young--perhaps a couple years younger than himself--but keen. When they shake hands his grip is strong and direct, and Marconi is surprised enough to actually look at him properly.

He is not tall. But he is not short, either. He is wearing oversized glasses that make his eyes look big and slide a little on his slightly crooked nose at every movement of his head. Which is, frankly, very often, as he is continuously nodding, as though in response to a question that hasn't been asked yet.

His voice is his best feature, though, the one that eclipses all others. The moment he opens his mouth and releases his smooth, American-accented baritone, Marconi's insides quiver. "I hear you're a scientist."

The obviousness of the statement makes him chuckle, though he's become a bundle of nerves himself. "You've heard right. I am a scientist."

"I find science to be--fascinating." Not wireless telegraphy, or Hertzian waves. Science.

"What do you do?" he asks.

The man replies, "I am an intern." He does not explain what an intern is. "I'm not from around here. --What sort of science do you do, Mr. Marconi?"

"Well I'm--" He pauses, seeing the enraptured look on his conversation partner's face, smiles, and continues, "I'm inventing the radio."

 

Soon enough the man's silver tongue has talked him into showing him this wondrous "radio" that he speaks of, and so they're at a work station nearby where he's been putting a working model together for his demonstration. Marconi is aware that perhaps it would be prudent to be suspicious--once an invention becomes profitable there's no end of people who would steal it for their own credit. But there's a guilelessness in this man's eyes, and Marconi is always eager to share his ideas anyway.

There isn't much to show of the machine yet--it's not ready for a demonstration, and all his previous experiments were done with devices that he'd left at home. But he unrolls the paper with all of his plans and notes on the table next to a bottle of brandy and two glasses set out for the both of them, hearing an awed intake of breath beside him.

"Would you like me to explain?"

" _Yes_."

It's clear by the slightly glazed look in the man's eyes that he doesn't understand all of--or even most of--what Marconi is saying as he points to various parts of the blueprint. But he has a boundless enthusiasm that he's never seen in anyone else he speaks to about it, and a surprising conviction that it will work. This man does not call him crazy, or fool-hardy, like some have done before they saw his experiments in action.

He does call him handsome, though.

Though that was after a couple more drinks.

It's clear his companion can't hold his liquor, though to be fair his current state can be more easily described as buzzed than drunk. But it's loosened his tongue quite a bit, and he's saying all sorts of things that, in polite society, it would be prudent to respond to by pulling back and leaving for the night.

So Marconi leans over and whispers in his ear, "Do you want to go somewhere?"

The young man seems to give a start at that, looking up in surprise, face flushed with alcohol and a clear infatuation. "Well we are, all of us, somewhere, already." Marconi leans in to kiss his lips, and the next sound he makes with that perfect voice of his is more of a breath than a word. "Oh." And then, "Yes. That would be--that would be _swell_."

The hotel is not very far. A short ride away and they're there, Marconi slipping the other man a note with his room number before going up first. Several minutes later there is a knock on his door, and without so much as a greeting he pulls his visitor inside by the lapels of his jacket.

 

They both leave the hotel separately the next morning, Marconi out the front door and the other man out the staff entrance. To a casual observer it will look like they simply happened to run into each other on the street. To the casual observer, when the younger man approaches Marconi and holds out his hand, it will look like a hello handshake. They both know it is for a goodbye.

"I--I--I just wanted to say that it was a very, _very_ informative talk that we had, last night." He is grinning from ear to ear, almost literally. His teeth seem pointier than they should be.

Marconi is smoother, though a faint blush does rise to his cheeks. "Yes--well, you were a very good listener."

Now it's the younger man's turn to blush, head turning down a little shyly. "I--oh! Well it was my first time. Um. Listening."

"No. Really? You're a natural. At listening." And though there is another layer to their conversation, Marconi does mean that in the most literal, surface-level sense too. "I hope I've given you a lot to think about."

"Oh _yes_." The other man almost loses his glasses entirely in his exuberance, having to pull out of the handshake finally to push them back up on his face. In a voice less cracking with excitement, he adds, "I can't wait to tell everyone back home about this 'radio' of yours. It sounds super exciting. I'm sorry I won't be in London long enough to see your demonstration."

"Don't worry about it." He feels full of a confidence that was not there before--inexplicable, unexplainable, though perhaps not unrelated to the heaping of praise in honeyed tones that he'd received after all the normal guests had left his talk. "With any luck, you'll be seeing it in action yourself over in America soon enough. Or, hearing it, rather."

"I look forward to it." The man reaches forward to shake Marconi's hand again, this time pressing a small card into his palm. He can be heard muttering to himself as he walks away, "Just imagine…radio. Incredible. I can't wait to tell all the listeners."

It's only after diving back into his work later that day that Marconi realizes he had never learned the name of his temporary companion. The card he'd slipped into his hand had numbers and letters scribbled on it when he'd first glanced at it, but it seems that all the ink has since melted off the paper.

**Author's Note:**

> Probably not at all canon or even historically accurate in how I've interpreted Cecil's comments (I mean for starters it's more likely he met Marconi back when he still lived in Italy), but it's just a short thing I wrote to blow off steam while I'm working on something bigger.


End file.
